


Retreat from Haven

by Karasu888



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karasu888/pseuds/Karasu888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a combination between two ideas I had: the source of the wolf howls while the Inquisitor is struggling to reach the Inquisition and Dorian being able to help warm the Inquisitor after all of that walking through the snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retreat from Haven

The cold woke Kestrel up.  He lay on his back and allowed it to seep into his aching bones and numb the numerous injuries all over his body.  His eyes focused on the stars twinkling above him through the broken boards of the mine shaft he’d fallen into.

His memories of the fight with the mages flooded back to him.  They’d failed horribly and Haven was most likely gone.  At least he’d bought enough time for everyone else to flee through the tunnels while he stood alone against Corypheus and his pet dragon.  Kestrel’s courage surprised him.  When faced with the giant beast breathing down his back, he’d stood tall and argued with the demented “Elder One”, allowing the Inquisition to escape.  Now he was alone and everyone likely thought him dead.  Kestrel sighed despondently, immediately regretting the action as it caused his ribs to protest earnestly.  

Being forced into the Inquisition had been nothing but challenge after challenge.  Mythal knows he didn’t ask for the slash in his hand that glowed green and closed rifts to the Fade.  It’d gained him an unwanted leadership role with the Inquisition and all of the tribulations associated with it.  

How could those _shemlen_ expect him to solve all of their problems?  They looked to him as the revered Herald of Andraste while, behind his back, grumbled about the fact that he was a Dalish.  Anger boiled within him and warmed his skin against the cold.  He didn’t want any of this!

Kestrel struggled to sit up, his wounds working against him but his rage fueled him all the way to his feet eventually.  A thin sheen of sweat dotted his brow as he braced his right hand against the stone wall to steady himself.  As he gasped for breath, he promised himself he would see this through. They’d think even less of him if he died here or ran away.  Besides, he couldn’t let a Tevinter – That odd man who’d appeared right before they were attacked and fought hard with the Inquisition - show him up.

He staggered a few steps to gauge how his body was holding up. His left arm was weak, his shoulder joint swollen and aggravated from when Corypheus has held him aloft by solely that limb.  His ribs smarted sharply so they were most likely bruised if not broken.  He could thank being thrown against the catapult for that.  His head also throbbed which could’ve come from any number of times he’d been thrown around during the battle or maybe it came from flying head first through the boards that covered the mine shaft.  Lastly, his anchor hand tingled but that was a minor irritation dwarfed by his other pains.

Holding his middle, the Inquisition shuffled down the mine, steadying himself against the wall when needed.  Progress felt agonizingly slow and the tunnel seemed to go forever, the air growing staler by the step.  

Kestrel had no idea how long he had been walking when he reached the cavern.  A breeze rushed by, indicating that the exit was somewhere nearby.  Possibly past the wraiths that had spawned at his presence.

He froze, unsure what to do.  He’d lost his bow in the battle with Corypheus and only had a small dagger at his waist for a weapon.  However he was in such an exhausted state that he doubted he’d last long against the Fade creatures.  They floated about the cavern, unaware of him yet.  Maybe he’d be able to sneak by them?

Kestrel took a step forward, preparing to slip into stealth when his anchor crackled to life.  Immediately the wraiths fixated on him, more specifically his hand.  Reacting out of instinct, he held his left hand out weakly before him to shield himself from their attacks.  His hand glowed and before he knew what was happening, a rift opened above the wraiths.  In a matter of seconds, the demons were pulled back into the Fade and the fissure collapsed.

He sank to his knees, exhausted and surprised, left hand tingling with the power that had coursed through it.  Taking a moment to gather his strength, Kestrel forced himself back to his feet.  He wasn’t totally helpless and he would find his way back to the Inquisition. 

 

* * *

 

Several hours passed as he trudged through the snow, form hunched against the blizzard that battled his small frame.  He couldn’t feel any of his extremities – ears, nose, hands, and feet all were numb.  It helped against the pain but made it increasingly difficult to keep moving forward. His body cried for rest but he knew if he stopped, he’d die in these mountains.

Kestrel found it harder and harder to focus, mind wandering to how he’d ended up here and what the Inquisition was doing without him.  Did they assume he was dead?  Were they looking for him?  Did they even stand a chance against Corypheus and his arch demon dragon?  And what was that Tevinter doing?  What interest did he have with the Inquisition?  Was he a spy from the Imperium?  Or was he sent for a more sinister task like sabotaging their operation or even an assassination attempt?  Why had he been so helpful in the battle?

He raised his arm against the snow drift as he traveled deeper into the mountain pass, looking for any signs the Inquisition had passed this way.  Nothing so far.

Kestrel’s mind kept returning to the Tevinter as his body functioned on autopilot trudging through the snow in a direction he prayed was correct. What was his name again?  It started with a D, he was sure of that. He’d shown up in such a flurry and an army trailing behind him, his name hadn’t stuck.  He huffed with frustration.  He’d never been good with names but that man’s name seemed worth remembering, especially if he planned on betraying them.  

Who shows up with a half bare chest in the frigid mountains waving a staff around during a fucking mage rebellion in the middle of the Inquisition? He could’ve gotten himself killed by any number of factions.  There was just _something_ about him that Kestrel found intriguing.  Maybe it was his confidence or maybe it was his dark muscular physique…

He could suddenly feel his cheeks again as they burned with a deep blush.  Why in the Fade was he thinking of him like that?  He didn’t even know his name!  He took his anger out on the snow, stomping several feet before he weakened.

The Tevinter would probably treat him like the rest. Respect him to his face and talk down about him because he was a “knife-ear”.  Perhaps he’d just talk down to him from the beginning.  He was from Tevinter after all and they kept his kind for slaves.  He snorted, frustrated that his mind kept returning to this man.  

As his right foot sank through the snow, it encountered a stump or a rock and Kestrel tripped, falling onto his hands into the deep snow.  His hands hit the ground just as his face came within inches of the disturbed snow bed.  “ _Fenedhis_!” he cursed.  He looked up from his lowered position and all he could see was white.  

Doubt started to creep into his thoughts as his body grew numb. _I’m never going to make it out of here._

A wolf howled in response.  Kestrel decided he definitely preferred freezing to death over being eaten by wolves and scrambled slowly to his feet.  He slogged on, adrenaline pushing him further.  More howls echoed the first and they seemed to grow closer.

Kestrel shielded his eyes to search his surroundings but all he saw were shadows upon shadows.  Any of those could be wolves or trees or rocks or…

He shook his head and returned his gaze forward only to trip again and fall face first into the snow.  The rush of wet cold on the bare skin of his checks shocked him for only a moment before it numbed.  He managed to flip himself onto his back before he could no longer feel any part of him and his body no longer responded to his commands.  He gave up as the howls closed in.

 

* * *

 

The crunch of snow around him stirred him from his sleep. Kestrel didn’t even realize he had dozed off.  Warm wetness covered his face repeatedly, removing the icicles that sealed his eyes shut. They fluttered open and locked onto a dark mass standing over him.  Six red eyes glowed on the head of a dark-furred wolf staring at him intently.

Kestrel gasped as the sight, the sudden intake of frigid air sending him into a coughing fit.  As he recovered, the wolf used its muzzle to nudge the elf repeatedly.

“F-Fen’harel?” Kestrel whispered, certain this was a dream or perhaps he had died and the God was here torment him.  He instinctively shied away from the creature, trembling with cold and fear.

The beast only growled in response before opening its jaws and biting lightly into the elf’s armored arm, urging him up.

“Why…?” he murmured in elvhen, left hand instinctively reaching for the scruff behind the wolf’s head as the animal forced his way closer, refusing to be ignored.  As soon as Kestrel gripped the fur, he felt an infusion of strength and energy. Warmth seemed to radiate from his hold, through the anchor, down his arm, and into the rest of his body.

“Oh…” he groaned in relief, all of his numbness, aches and pains melting away.  He practically jumped to his feet, feeling like he’d just awoken from a long nap in front of a warm fire.  Realizing what he was doing and who he was touching, he quickly released his hold, backing warily away from the wolf.  As soon as he let go, the warmth slipped from his body, bringing back the agony of his wounds and the piercing cold.

“What trick is this, Dread Wolf?  Just leave me to die in peace.  I want none of your games,” he muttered between chattering teeth.

The wolf regarded him silently as he spoke, red eyes never blinking.  Snorting at Kestrel, he padded over to his side, took his wrist gently in his mouth and turned his head to connect the elf’s hand with his scruff again. Immediately the chill on his skin subsided and his body felt whole again.

“I don’t understand why you’re helping me, Fen’harel.  But I…I can’t make it back to them on my own.  I would…appreciate your help.”

The wolf nodded its head in acceptance, the act looking odd on an animal.  Kestrel tightened his grasp on the creature’s fur and allowed himself to blindly follow him.

The snow eventually slowed and made visibility easier allowing them to locate an abandoned fire pit.  The wolf didn’t even paused to sniff the area, already seeming to know where he needed to go.

They walked on in silence, Kestrel struggling due to the depth of the snow.  The wolf seemed to dance along its surface, barely sinking.

Finally he mustered up the courage to speak to the god walking beside him.  “What I don’t understand is why you, of all the Gods, have come to help me.  I would’ve expected Mythal…” he said, free hand brushing over his vallaslin dedicated to her.  “…or perhaps Ghilan’nain.  But Fen’ahrel?  What motive do you have?  Is it because of the anchor and my connection to the Fade?”

The wolf growled non committedly as they neared another fire pit.  Though it was extinguished, this one still smoked which indicated it had been doused not long ago.  They were growing closer to what Kestrel hoped was the Inquisition.  Hopefully the Lord of Tricksters wasn’t leading him directly into the hands of the Venatori.  That would be more true to his nature.

The snow grew deeper as they reached an incline. The wolf lead him on the easiest route through rocks that jutted out of the ground, partially hidden in white.  

Without warning, the wolf stopped and looked up at Kestrel. Using his nose, he gestured from the elf to up the rise.

“I’m to climb up there by myself?  I suppose this is the end of my journey with you then, Fen’harel.”

The wolf cocked its head, mouth gaped open, almost looking like a grim grin with his sharp teeth exposed.

Kestrel stifled a shudder at the expression and huffed nervously, preparing himself for the pain and chill he knew would return as soon as he released the creature.  He had to make it up the hill to whatever fate the God of Betrayal had lead him too.

Steeling himself, he lifted his hand from the dark fur and began his trek up the steep slope.  His energy quickly waned and he found himself close to frozen and panting for air as he neared the top.  As his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees, he could hear cries of familiar voices. 

 

* * *

 

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Kestrel was able to distinguish a conversation taking place nearby but he was unable to respond. He’d grown so cold that he no longer shivered, his body shutting down bit by bit.  How ridiculous that he’d survived a battle with an arch demon and ancient Tevinter, walked miles through the snow, and made it all this way escorted by Fen’harel just to die.

“The elfroot potion seems to have healed his wounds but he’s still ice cold.”

“We can’t have had the Inquisitor travel all this way just to freeze to death.”

“We need to warm him quickly!”

Someone cleared their voice off to the side.

“Mother Giselle said it’s best not to move him but the fire could help…”

“What other choice do we have?  His heartbeat is extremely weak and his breathing rate is very low.”

“Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry, Altus Pavus, but we’re quite busy at this time as you can see.”

“Most certainly, however it sounds like you’d in need of a fire mage and I so happen to be one.”

There was a pause as the others present seemed to weight his offer. The Inquisitor managed to differentiate Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine’s voices in his frozen haze.  Their voices grew softer as they whispered over Kestrel, debating their decision.

“Again, what other choice do we have?”

“At least we don’t have to move him now.”

“But he’s a Tevinter apostate!  We can’t trust the Inquisitor’s life to his hands!”

“The Inquisitor’s life is forfeit if we do nothing, Cullen. There’s nothing to be lost in letting Dorian try to warm him with magic.”

“Then it’s decided.  …Altus Pavus, please see what you can do to help the Inquisitor.  We appreciate your help.”

“But you will be watched,” growled an unmistakable Cullen.

“Yes, yes.  As if I haven’t already had multiple opportunities to kill the Inquisitor, Commander.  For instance, I simply could not have warned you about the onslaught of mages heading your way.  Or, even now, if I wanted the Inquisitor dead, I’d simply let him freeze instead of offering my help.  Now, if you please, stop hovering so I can save this man’s life.”

The scent of sandalwood and brandy comforted him as he sensed the mage bend over him, warmth radiating from him.  Slowly he felt his body began to thaw and his heartbeat strengthen.  He took a deep, gasping breath of warmed air and opened his eyes.

The Tevinter had his hands resting on the elf’s chest as they glowed orange.  His head was bowed as he focused on his work.  With the large inhalation, his gaze rose and met Kestrel’s.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Inquisitor. Hopefully you won’t protest as much as the Commander has so I can get you completely thawed out.  I wouldn’t want you to lose a limb just because people keep fearing the evil Tevinter is trying to harm you somehow by saving you,” he said, the left side of his mouth curling up in a smirk that only Kestrel could see.

“I.  Apologize. Mage,” Cullen ground out before stomping out of the tent, forgetting about his self-appointed duty to protect the Inquisitor.

“An apology!  How delightful!” the mage called as the Commander left them.  “He really shouldn’t make his buttons to easy to push,” he said to the Inquisitor with a delighted grin, their eyes meeting again.  “Now…you’re in no danger of dying however we should ensure you get to keep all of your fingers and toes,” he continued and he moved to the foot of the cot.  

Kestrel was too weak to sit up enough to watch what he was doing. He felt his boots pulled off, followed shortly by his socks.  How he hated those things but they’d probably saved him from losing his toes to the cold. Maybe Josephine had a point in making him wear those around the snow-covered Haven.

He felt pressure before anything else, followed by sharp tingling as he started to feel his left foot.  He inhaled though his teeth, the pain increasing as more feeling came to his foot.  Adapt fingers dung into the sole and began to massage away the pain, warming as they went. Kestrel failed to stifle the groan of appreciation that escaped his lips.  The mage’s fingers paused for a moment at the noise before continuing.

Before long, Kestrel’s feet were quite toasty and the massage stopped as the Tevinter moved to his side.  Pulling up a stool, he settled next to the Inquisitor and briskly rubbed his hands together.  They started to glow and radiate heat before he extended one to the elf.  “Hand, please,” he requested, offering a disarming smile.

Kestrel tentatively presented his unmarked hand. Without ceremony or comment, the mage snatched it from the air and began to rub, working his warmed fingers along his own.  When he could finally feel his hand again, he noticed the Tevinter’s hands were very soft and smooth.  If he hadn’t seen him fight with his own eyes, he would’ve thought the man had no battle experience.  His own hands were rough and calloused from his years of use with a bow and his life growing up in the woods.

As he switched hands to the one with the anchor on it, the mage paused and flipped it palm up, exposing the mark.  “Does it hurt?” he questioned, genuinely curious as he ran a thumb lightly over the dormant scar.

“No.  It just…tingles when I use it,” he replied as he watched the mage’s hands started to rub his left hand.  His touch was so gentle and Kestrel found himself mesmerized by the massaging movements. He was only jolted from his fixation when the Tevinter stopped, released his hand, and started to rise.

“One last part to warm, Inquisitor,” he murmured, drawing close.

The elf’s eyes widened and he managed to squeak out a “what?”.

The mage reached for him and gingerly cupped a hand over either one of his pointed ears, broadcasting a soothing heat.  “I wouldn’t want your ears to fall off. They’re quite cute,” he said openly, warmed thumbs running along the upper edge.

Kestrel shuddered, struggling to control himself.  Elf ears were very sensitive and he found himself quite thankful that one particular part of his was not thoroughly thawed.

He forced himself to silently evaluate the Tevinter as a distraction.  The man’s gaze shifted from one ear to the other, keeping an eye on the progress, so he was able to stare at him without being noticed.  Why had he agreed to help them?  Did he have some ulterior motive in doing so?  It couldn’t be his death because he had already had several opportunities to kill him and hadn’t bothered.  Maybe to undermine them but he could’ve let them fall at Haven.

…But he thought his ears were cute?  This man really was handsome.  His dark hair complimented his beautifully caramel skin tone and his gray eyes were very expressive.  Kestrel found his cheeks growing warm as his mind shifted from logical questions to realizing how attractive the mage holding him really was.

“Did I warm you too much?” he asked the blushing elf, sounding concerned as he removed his hands.

Jerked out of his thoughts, Kestrel answered quickly, “W-What? Oh, no.  I feel fine.”

The mage narrowed his eyes for a minute, picking up on the lie and debating whether to challenge him on it or not.  Deciding against it, he shrugged.  “Well, now I can add saving the Inquisitor’s life to my résumé.  I’m sure the Magisterium will be quite impressed,” he said cynically as he moved the stool away from the elf’s bedside.

“Wait!  Uhm…”

The mage looked at him, questioning eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms over his chest.  

“I-I wanted to thank you…uh…” Kestrel stammered, remembering he didn’t even know this man’s name.

The man’s smirk reappeared as he leaned forward, bringing with him a subtle scent of sandalwood and brandy.  A mischievous glint was in his gray eyes.  “You don’t remember my name, do you, Inquisitor?”

“I…well…” He struggled to remember but came up empty.  He was horrible with names. “… _Fenedhis_!  No, no I do not.  In case you forgot, there was a lot going on when you appeared,” the Inquisitor retorted, growing defensive as an embarrassed flush bloomed on his cheeks.

The man chuckled and stood up straight.

Kestrel scowled and sat up in his bed, battling back the dizziness. “What are you laughing at?  Look, _Tevinter_ , I was nearly killed by some ancient Magister and practically froze on the miles I had to trek to reach everyone.  I don’t have any patience to play your games!  I’m not of your _elvhen_ slaves to be toyed with for your own amusement!”

The grin fell from the mage’s face as he grew somber.  “I apologize, Inquisitor.  I honestly didn’t mean to offend.  My name is Dorian Pavus, at your service,” he said sincerely, bowing at his waist.

The Inquisitor sighed, realizing he’d probably gone too far. This man had helped them in their time of need and had been selfless since he joined them.  “Dorian?”  He enjoyed how the name flowed off his tongue, despite it being a foreign name to him. He waited until the man was looking at him again.  “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day…”

“Yes.  With all of the almost dying a few times.  I understand, Inquisitor.”

“ _Mythal ir ghilana_ ,” Kestrel grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “Are you always so frustrating?”

All slighted posturing dropped, Dorian grinned as he responded, “Typically.  One of the many skills I possess.  I’m also quite charming, astute, handsome-“

“Really?  Obviously modesty is one of the few skills you lack,” he interrupted sarcastically.

“Modesty?”  Dorian cocked his head to the side pretending to considering the term.  “I never found a need for that skill.”

“Ah…so you do have a fault!”

“Lacking modesty?  I hardly call that a fault, Inquisitor.”

“Hmmm….”

“…I see your opinion differs from mine.”

“We’re in need of all types in the Inquisition, Dorian,” Kestrel said with a grin of his own.

“…After all of that you actually want me to join?” he asked, for once appearing less than confident.

“Well, saving my fingers and toes does earn you serious points.” He wiggled his fingers in between them to emphasize his point.

“Maker, you are interesting…” the Tevinter crooned.

The way Dorian’s voice dropped low when he last spoke sent tingles straight down Kestrel’s spine.  “I-Interesting?  I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended,” he retorted indignantly, feeling his cheeks burning again.  He did his best to ignore it and struggled to his feet, making the mage take a step back to give him room.  He had to get away from this man before he betrayed his attraction for him.  He’d just met him and it was ridiculous how much he was blushing around him.

“Ah!  Inquisitor! I don’t think that’s wise,” he said, extending his arms out when the elf labored to stay upright.

“I…need…”  He was suddenly exhausted and he had difficultly piecing together a thought.  Swaying, the elf’s legs gave out but instead of falling to the floor or back on the cot, the mage caught him by his upper arms and held firm.  Kestrel’s hands pressed against Dorian’s chest to keep himself from completely falling against him.

“Just because you’re no longer frozen doesn’t mean you’re ready to be on your feet!” he chastised softly, eyes briefly acknowledging the touch as he spoke.

“Sorry…” he whispered as he was slowly lowered back to the bed.

Dorian helped lift his feet off the floor and back onto the mattress before bending over the elf to retrieve the blanket that had fallen to the other side.

Kestrel inhaled deeply.  “…you smell so good…” he blurted out, delirious with fatigue.

The Tevinter grinned as he grabbed the blanket from the floor.  “Oh, Inquisitor, I just realize I don’t know your name,” he said as he stood.  When he heard no response, his eyes shifted to the elf’s face to find him fast asleep. Covering Kestrel with the blanket, Dorian murmured to himself, “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for that.”


End file.
